


Let the Night Pass

by reginamea



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Vignette, post-"The Miller's Daughter"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 02:58:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1672163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reginamea/pseuds/reginamea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Emma wonders if she is stuck in her own version of A Christmas Carol, only she isn’t visited by the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future, but by the ghosts of, what, her own past, present, and future?" - the night after the fight against Cora, Emma has a dream</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let the Night Pass

**Author's Note:**

> Emma-focused, mostly gen with subtle hints of Swan Queen and Swan Thief. Additional appearances by Henry and Cora, but mostly just Emma, because she never gets to deal with anything and I had to try and fix that somewhat

That first night back in Storybrooke, Emma dreams she is back in prison. She is 18 again, 18 and pregnant, hapless, vulnerable. Only the bars enclosing her look awfully familiar, the sight of the sheriff’s office, too, familiar and yet confusing at the same time. Not to this 18-year-old version of herself, but certainly to the 29-year-old who has made her home here, who has found a nicely-sized niche carved seemingly just for her in this little cursed town.

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches sight of a figure, small and dark in the far corner, beyond the glass, and even with the spare light that seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time she is able to recognize Cora's form at her desk - _Emma's_ desk - and she shivers. Because Cora is dead, killed by her own daughter just hours ago (by _Emma's mother_ , a voice whispers in the back of Emma’s mind, and it will not be ignored). But here, now, Cora merely remains in the background, paying no mind to Emma, but still constant, lingering, impossible to ignore.

In spite of the cold prickling sensation behind her eyes, Emma cannot tear herself away from the sight of Cora. It takes her hours, seemingly, to look away, and when she does, when she looks down instead, her pregnant belly is gone and, in its stead, Henry is nestled in her lap, like the little boy she never saw growing up, maybe four, maybe five years old. _You’re just like her_ , his voice accuses her, younger than she has ever heard, but cold and bitter nonetheless. And Emma wants to protest - _no, I am not like her, I am not like Regina, no, not at all_ \- but try as she might, her mouth won’t open and so her silence rings like confirmation to Henry, and he hops of her lap and simply dissolves into the floor right before her eyes. And she can’t even scream.

She stares at the floor, the solid cement floor without one solitary crack and no remnant of Henry left, and no matter how hard she tries, there is nothing for her eyes to discover but blankness, coldness, the bare and silent floor beneath her feet.

Instead, when she looks up again, she finds Regina watching her, except this Regina is not the woman she has confronted earlier, but the woman she met a year ago on the pathway of her mansion bringing back her wayward son, and she looks worried and haggard. She says, _you already took my son from me, Miss Swan, couldn’t you at least leave me my mother?_ And once again Emma wants to protest but all that does leave her mouth is a prolonged staccato of _I’m sorry - I’m sorry - I’m sorry_ , and even though Emma isn’t sure what exactly she is apologizing for, Regina seems to understand, because all of a sudden she is right in front of her, running the back of her knuckles over Emma’s cheek in what could almost pass as a tender gesture. Except, a second later, Regina is locking her fingers around Emma’s chin in a vice-like grip and _there_ is the woman her parents have spoken of as the Evil Queen, her mouth a snarl and her eyes burning a deep purple.

Her grip on Emma's face tightens to the point that Emma cringes in pain, her knees buckling under her own weight as her fingers fist around the bars in an attempt to hold herself up. Then, all of a sudden, the pain is gone. Yet Regina is still there, wrapping her own hands around the bars now and coming closer still, and Emma is rooted in place by the light shifting in the other woman's eyes, turning from glowing purple to glistening brown like petrol shimmering in the rain.

It is her eyes, then, rather than her voice, that seem to be asking, _why didn't you stop her, Miss Swan?_ a mere second before Regina, too, disappears, melting into the floor just like Henry before her and like the Wicked Witch so many years ago and so many times since then. But this time, Emma is quick enough to react, to reach out, but her hands seem to pass right through the form that used to be Regina, and a moment later, nothing is left but the cold floor and the warming metal where four hands were clutching it just a minute ago.

In the background, Cora shifts, her shadow diffusing for a second, creeping along the wall, before the light flickers, and she is still again, bend over her desk, silent and unmoving.

It is still for a long time after this. Emma drags her feet back to the bed, all of a sudden so weary, so exhausted, from everything and nothing at the same time, and she sinks down onto the bed with a sigh.Her brain feels like a broken record, repeating the parting words Henry and Regina have left her with. _You’re just like her. Why didn't you stop her?_ Over and over again, the words spin around in her mind, and the more persistent they become, the more unsure Emma is about their actual meaning, the more vague every word seems to become, until a shadow falls across the walls and something in Emma's chest tightens as her eyes snap to Cora. Yet Cora has not moved and, instead, Emma finds the silhouette of Neal hovering a few feet away, unmistakably so.

So there's three of them, Emma thinks, three ungodly visitors, and briefly she wonders if she is stuck in her own version of _A Christmas Carol_ , only she isn’t visited by the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future, but by the ghosts of, what, her own past, present, and future? It sounds ridiculous even to her own ears and yet, she thinks, in this town where fairy tale characters are real and Snow White is her mother and Rumpelstiltskin is the grandfather of her son, nothing really seems impossible and the mere thought that this might be anything more than a nightmare seems to be pulling her insides apart into opposite directions.

And so Emma ignores both, pulling herself out of her mind and shifting her attention to Neal. _Past, present, future_ , she thinks, right? and she lifts her eyes to the face that is still half-hidden in shadows and behind bars. _This times_ , she thinks, _I'm prepared_. Third time's a charm. Past, present, and future. Three visitors.

_Neal._

And Neal glides into focus, a boyish smile on his face, a sparkle in his eyes that makes him look so rakishly handsome that Emma once again feels 18. 18 and in love. 18 and not-pregnant. 18 and not-in-prison. Except the bars around her tell a different story, and the sparkle in Neal's eyes loses some of its shine even as he steps out of the shadows and right up to her, face to face, close enough to reach out and touch. And he does. He lifts his hand to where Emma's own is wrapped around the metal and clutches at her fingers like they're tethering him to this world. _Emma_ , he whispers, so close that his breath ghosts across her cheek like a caress, _Emma_ , and Emma wants to respond, wants to smile at him, yet lips won’t move and so she remains frozen in place.

And Neal just smiles that smile that reminds Emma of _before_ , when times were simpler, and she knows just moments before it happens that this is it, this is the moment when he disappears again. She feels it in the twinge somewhere between her belly and her heart just before his mouth opens and he says, _love again_ , and tightens his hand around Emma's just for an instant before he crumbles, turning into dust right before her eyes, and a shadow sweeps across the room and there is Cora, her eyes black and her form blurry, hovering like an ominous spirit just above the floor as she reaches for Emma through the bars, through her clothes. Through skin and flesh and bones, Cora wraps her fingers around her heart once more and pulls and pulls and Emma screams.

She wakes, gasping for air and crying, the imprint of a clammy hand on her heart, her sheets cold and wet around her body.

 

FIN


End file.
